


Undress Me: Bilbo

by Bead



Series: To Kiss A Stranger [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Love at First Sight, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2525087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last in the video-inspired "To Kiss a Stranger series!"  This particular fic was inspired by <a href="http://vimeo.com/100785234">this</a> video, which was a promotional piece for Showtime's "The Masters of Sex."</p><p>Many, many thanks to my beta squad!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undress Me: Bilbo

**Author's Note:**

> And this particular story has it's own [wardrobe](http://www.pinterest.com/sblindside/clothes-inspiration). Window shopping on Pinterest is so fun. 
> 
> **Headcanon for Bilbo:** Chef and restaurant owner, using organic food grown at his own farm. He started with a little catering company called "The Party Tree," which is commemorated in his cufflinks. Bilbo doesn't have to work, but, really, one must keep busy. He has several restaurants from the comfort food "Bag End," to the elegant and etherial "Rivendell," inspired by a mentor he met in his travels. 
> 
> **Headcanon for Thorin:** Thorin is an architect, and works far too hard I seem to settle on that frequently. He will need some feeding up and TLC. He is the Duke of Durin, and he's trying to restore his family estate. 
> 
> Right, let's get to the story.

~~~

It was terribly rude, but Bilbo found it difficult to really pay attention to what Ori was saying once he - his partner in this crazy video shoot he let Bofur and Ori talk him into - walked into the room. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t begin to cover it, at least in Bilbo’s mind, and his first thought was of his unbelievable luck, and his second was, _“Oh my bloody gracious me, I’m going to have to undress him. In front of other people.”_

The saving grace was that Tall, Dark and Oh My Gracious, seemed to be having the same problem, though he was clearly making an effort, nodding at Ori and making one or two remarks Bilbo couldn’t quite hear. But his eyes kept wandering to meet Bilbo’s, and suddenly, he gave Bilbo a warm, shy smile. 

“Right,” Bofur said, sotto voce, at his elbow. “Bilbo’s Brain has left the building, so I’ll just guide you to where you’re supposed to stand, all right?” 

“Oh, shut up,” Bilbo replied without heat, and without taking his eyes off Thorin, who wasn’t blushing, exactly, but his ears had grown quite red, and there was a faint, fetching flush across the tops of his cheeks, making his blue eyes seem even bluer. 

“Stop drooling, there’s a good lad, and shift your feet,” Bofur grumbled, laughter in his voice. 

“Right,” he replied faintly, shook himself, and followed Bofur. He did not turn his head and watch Tall & Dark while he did so, but it was a near thing. 

“Got you all in a lather, didn’t he?” Bofur whispered. 

“I...I don’t know...he’s just…”

“Aye, lovely, he is. Nice bloke, too, once you get to know him. Though I don’t think you’ll have a problem with that.” Bofur started tugging at Bilbo’s overcoat, which was draped over his forearm. “You won’t be needing that under the lights. 

“Hmmm? Oh, yes. What was it you meant by…?”

“A bit reserved to start. But, I think he’s just as moonstruck,” Bofur whispered. 

“Oh hush.” 

Bofur shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine.” He leered at Bilbo. “Just don’t forget we’re here,” he added gleefully, and strolled off. 

Like Bilbo would forget something like that. 

Ori was busy leading Dark & Gorgeous over to the proper place on the set, and glanced over at Bilbo, including him in his final instructions. 

“Now, don’t forget: no personal details. What we’re hoping for is that you can find, without any extra information, a place where you can connect, be comfortable, and…” 

“Get each other’s kits off, in front of three cameras, without injuring ourselves or the equipment,” Bilbo added, dry and droll, despite his fast-beating heart. Tall, Dark & Gorgeous smiled, bright and boyish, and ducked his head. Oh, Bilbo was in trouble, he was so very much in trouble. 

“Exactly,” Ori said, laughter in his voice. “Bifur’s already got the camera rolling, so introduce yourselves - just first names! - and get started whenever you’re ready.” 

~~~~

Thorin could hear Ori settling into his director’s chair, and murmuring a few things to his two-man crew, but he couldn’t quite drag his eyes off the man before him. When he walked in, his - for lack of a better word - partner was laughing, head thrown back, and when he raised his head, he was looking straight at Thorin, his eyes sparkling with laughter still, and in that moment he was so compelling, it seemed as if he quite literally had charmed Thorin. Bilbo’s thoughts flitted across his face so very, clearly: nerves, excitement, surprise, and most definitely interest. 

Thorin had finally agreed to participate in this project of Ori’s to shut up his surprisingly persuasive cousin and nagging nephews. He hadn’t actually imagined that he’d be paired with someone who so immediately made him want to know more, to hear more of his lovely, easy laugh.

They settled, facing one another in the space before the small, white bed, in an area clearly marked in black tape and sharply diminishing light. The entire room seemed to take a breath, waiting on them to begin. 

~~~

“Thorin,” he said, his voice deep and low as he inclined his head slightly in a short bow, immediately conjuring up old-world manners in Bilbo’s mind. “At your service.” 

“Bilbo,” he replied, echoing Thorin’s gesture. “At yours.” The other man’s eyes gleamed in approval. Bilbo took a sharp, deep breath, stepped forward, and boldly put his hands on Thorin’s chest. 

“May I take your coat?” he murmured, and the gleam in Thorin’s eyes deepened into a small, warm smile. 

“Hmm,” he said, his hands coming up to lightly cover Bilbo’s. “Perhaps yours, first.” 

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, and Thorin dipped his head a bit lower. “If you don’t mind,” he asked softly, and Bilbo finally noticed a small tremor in the large hands covering his own. 

He turned his palms to clasp Thorin’s hands and looked at him, offering a hint of his own nerves in his gaze. “Of course,” he said, gave Thorin’s hands a small squeeze and stepped away. 

Thorin kept hold of one of Bilbo’s hands and, with a sly, shy smile, spun Bilbo under his arm. Bilbo barked out a delighted laugh as he turned ‘round, and then Thorin’s hands settled on his shoulders. Bilbo fancied he could feel the warmth of them through layers and layers of clothing. 

“Thank you,” he said, for Bilbo’s ears alone, as his hands came around to catch the lapels of Bilbo’s jacket. It easily slid off, and Bilbo turned back to face Thorin, who was carefully draping the coat over his arm. 

“Your tailor won’t thank me for tossing this on the floor,” he said, frowning. Bilbo raised his eyebrows and rocked back on his heels. 

“You know my tailor?” he teased. Thorin quirked a smile. 

“I know quality, and I make it a point, on the whole,” he rumbled, “Not to antagonize craftsmen. Particularly those who measure my inseam.” 

“And you counsel I do the same?” 

Thorin gave cast an appreciative eye on the suit remaining on Bilbo, and Bilbo in it. “Such craftsmanship must be carefully cultivated.” 

“Assured of no damage?” 

He shook his head ever so slightly. “Assured of appreciation...and care.” 

“Well, then.” Bilbo said softly. “Such assurances must be made.” Keeping his eyes on Thorin, he raised his voice slightly. “Ori. A chair, perhaps?” 

“On it,” Ori replied, sounding somewhat breathless. He nodded to Bofur, who conjured up two chairs from god knows where, and placed them within reach, just slightly beyond the marks they were to stay between. 

They’d be in slight shadow for the moment or two needed to put clothes away, but Ori raised no objections. The entire crew seemed to take a breath and hold it when the chairs were set. 

~~~~

“Thank you,” Thorin said, his eyes never leaving Bilbo’s. With a slight nod, he excused himself to hang the jacket on the chair nearest him, draped it over the back with the promised care, and with a smooth turn on his heel, returned to the shared space in front of the bed.

Bilbo still cut a neat, elegant figure in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, and, as before, he came deep into Thorin’s personal space to rest his hands on Thorin’s chest. This time, Thorin was prepared for the delicious, woodsy, spiced scent of his cologne, and, more affecting, the spark of intelligence and interest in his deep blue eyes. 

“May I?” Bilbo asked softly. “Now that I think of it,” he teased. “We should have started with pocket squares.” 

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Well, if you insist, ” he replied, unable to stop smiling. 

“I suppose I could overlook it, since mine is still snug in my jacket.” 

“I rather thought it was trying to break free, or was in the process of becoming sentient.” 

Bilbo huffed playfully. “It’s a valid stylistic choice!” 

“True. Very bold.” Thorin pretended to consider it. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if it crawls out all on its own and orders tea.” 

“Hmph,” he hmphed, his eyes sparkling, and tapped his fingers on Thorin’s lapels. “May I?” 

“Please.” Thorin took a steadying breath when Bilbo elected to remove his jacket face-to-face, tucking his hands inside the lapels and shifting it up Thorin’s shoulders, of necessity standing on his toes to push it off, and for a breathless moment, they were pressed chest to chest. 

Just as Thorin’s hands were coming up of their own accord to steady him, Bilbo's heels hit the floor, and Thorin was unable to hold in a regretful sigh as Bilbo left him to circle around his back, deftly working the garment off. 

"Won't be a moment," he murmured, as he reappeared, coat in hand, and Thorin had the distinct pleasure of watching him walk away, and Bilbo knew it, too, by the private, sly smile he sported as he returned. His eyes were gleaming as he tipped his chin up, challenging Thorin to take his turn. 

Challenge it was. Thorin went to him and ran his hands down Bilbo's arms slowly, discovering sleek muscles beneath the fine cotton. He must have made some indication of approval, because Bilbo blushed charmingly and ducked his head, and remained so, staring at the floor. 

Thorin considered this as he held Bilbo's wrists in his hands, his thumbs ducking under the cuffs to stroke the tender skin over his pulse. Bilbo sighed, a fine tremor running through his frame. 

Slowly, Thorin released one hand and kissed the knuckles of the other. Bilbo made a small, choked noise, clearly repressing some sort of reaction, his whole body tensing as if he was holding himself in place. He worked through the tremor and raised his head, his eyes wide and dark. 

Sliding his hand up one shoulder, Thorin touched the edge of Bilbo's jaw, sketched a thumb over the arch of his cheekbone, and cupped the side of his neck, offering support. "All right?"

Bilbo resettled his feet, swallowed hard, huffed out a self- deprecating laugh, closed his eyes and shook his head. 

“Oh, Thorin,” he sighed. "It's being more than all right that's throwing me." He again looked deeply into Thorin’s eyes, his gaze interested, questioning, and that, in itself was...electric. 

"Ah. Not just me, then." This time, the downward sweep of his thumb stroked the corner of Bilbo’s mouth, and he lingered, helpless to keep from staring, and let his palm curl along his clean-shaven jaw. 

Bilbo leaned into the touch, but his eyes remained steady on Thorin's as he pressed his cheek into Thorin's palm. "No. Not just you.” 

He couldn’t quite find his voice, after the offer in those eyes, so Thorin drew in a long, not-quite-steady breath, stroked Bilbo’s cheekbone one last time, and slid his hand down to clasp Bilbo’s, and shifted to remove his cufflink. It was an acorn, and he found himself grinning down at it. 

“What?” Bilbo asked with a charming tilt to his head.

Thorin turned his wrist to show his own oak tree cufflinks, and Bilbo shook his head, laughing. 

“What are the odds?” 

“Hmmm,” Thorin mused, removing the second cufflink. “Serendipity.” 

“When you growl it like that, it sounds like a _bad_ thing.” 

Thorin darted a quick look at him from under his brow. “That is not what I think, not at all.” He stroked his thumb over the thin skin of Bilbo’s wrist, left bare by the open cuff, then cradled his hand, turning it this way and that, stroking a careful finger over a bump here, a scar there. Well-manicured, but underneath….

“You work with your hands, hard work,” he murmured. “And..writing perhaps?” he stroked the bump at the first joint of his left middle finger. He gently touched what looked like an old burn mark, and several callouses. “Hmmm.” 

“You know I’m not supposed to tell you,” Bilbo’s voice was pleasantly husky. Thorin rather liked that. 

On impulse, he kissed Bilbo’s palm and the bend of his wrist before releasing him. 

When he looked up, Bilbo was just slowly opening his eyes. He offered a fondly exasperated twist of lips as he reached for Thorin’s hand. “Don’t think,” he said lightly. “That I missed you nicking my acorns.” He busied himself with Thorin’s cuffs. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he found himself murmuring to the top of Bilbo’s head, trying to figure out the exact shade of his hair, which was sandy, silvery, and also a bit ginger. 

Bilbo was taking his time with Thorin’s hands, and hummed to himself as he gently touched Thorin’s own knuckle, knobbed from long years of drafting and sketching, and the finger which didn’t quite heal back straight, the callouses and scars of building and work and life. He stroked the band of Thorin’s signet ring, looked a question at him. 

“That’s not come off since my…” Thorin’s voice came out all wrong, and he almost flinched as he cut himself off.

“Shhh.” Bilbo’s lips were soft on his palm, pressing a lush kiss to the center of it. The kindness behind it caught the breath in Thorin’s throat. He was grateful he had the presence of mind to caress Bilbo’s cheek lightly with his thumb in thanks. 

Bilbo’s eyes were smiling as he straightened up, and he pressed Thorin’s cufflinks into his hand. “I’m no burglar.” 

“Nor am I,” Thorin replied, and popped them in his pocket with Bilbo’s acorns. Bilbo barked out a laugh and shook his head. 

“Unbelievable,” he said, smiling. 

Thorin inclined his head, acknowledging it, and rested his hands on Bilbo’s chest. “May I?”

Bilbo hummed his permission, inclining his head slightly to regard Thorin, and remained thus, head tilted, watching him. His eyes roved over his eyes, his hair, his beard, and quite often, his mouth. 

Thorin fought the instinct to lick his lips, but oh, Bilbo did, as Thorin trailed hands down Bilbo’s chest, undoing each button by feel. Licked his lips, then met Thorin’s eyes with a clear, deep gaze. He caught Thorin’s breath anew. 

Recalling his task, he slipped his hands inside Bilbo’s waistcoat, and took a moment to revel at the warmth of his skin through his shirt. He echoed the way Bilbo had removed his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and stalking around him, working each side down his arm.

That very entrancing tremor seemed to be affecting Bilbo again, and he stood, so tightly wound, breathing deeply as if to calm himself, his fingers furling and unfurling in loose fists, as Thorin removed waistcoat with light, quick touches. 

Thorin found himself very much wanting to know what would happen if Bilbo stopped trying to fight his reactions. Very much. Before he stepped away, he clasped Bilbo’s shoulder, and slid down his arm to grasp his hand gently. 

Bilbo clutched at his fingers, let out a long breath, and bowed his head. Thorin, standing at his side, stared at the little hollow just behind Bilbo’s charmingly pointed ear, and wanted to press his mouth there, just there. He let out his own long sigh and Bilbo turned his head slightly, a slow, sighing roll, as if Thorin’s breath was a touch and he was leaning into it. 

“Serendipity,” Thorin offered again. 

“Serendipitous _lightning strike._ ” The glance Thorin received in answer was amused, but still his tensely held body, the flush on his face…. damn these cameras, but oh bless Ori and Fili and Kili for talking him into this… 

~~~~

There was almost a tearing sensation when Thorin turned away to put away the waistcoat. Bilbo took the opportunity to take a deep breath as he watched him. 

Such a contrast, this man; built powerfully, he moved not with a dancer’s grace but something more primal, predatory, but still quite beautiful. Luxuriously long hair, but tightly bound. And, if Bilbo was not mistaken, and he most certainly was not, clad in a bespoke suit and shoes, a mix of exquisitely civilized and unexpectedly sensual. And those icy blue eyes were the farthest thing from cold, and _serendipitously_ , they were being the farthest thing from cold in Bilbo’s direction. 

Thorin Unknown Last Name, buttoned up and lush, gruff and kind, and most certainly not tame. It was taking quite a lot not to laugh hysterically at his good fortune (even if it just lasted for the length of this shoot), or bolt for much the same reason (for good fortune should be approached cautiously and at an angle so as to not to startle it ), or lunge at him or melt under his touch and just... 

He blinked, and Thorin Unknown Last Name But Probably A Rather Posh One By That Signet Ring was quite close, and staring down at him with a small, private smile, and no, he just, no, really Bilbo couldn’t just watch that smile and not……

An impish, reckless thought took him, and he put out his hands and turned a bemused Thorin until he was facing the opposite direction. Thorin made a small huff of laughter, which turned into an extremely satisfying sharp gasp when Bilbo slid his hands around Thorin’s waist, nudged his arms out of the way and kept going around to the front, stopping whenever he found a button. He rested his cheek between Thorin’s shoulderblades, and worked his way up the waistcoat. 

Thorin’s hands settled on the backs of Bilbo’s when the last button came free, and leaned into Bilbo, lacing their fingers together. Bilbo tightened his arms and hands, and they rested a moment, just breathing together. Finally, Bilbo pulled back slightly, and Thorin let him take the waistcoat. 

When he stepped out of the shadows, Thorin was already reaching for him, bending to press his forehead against Bilbo’s for a long breath. His hands fell to Bilbo’s shoulders, so warm. 

“Ready?” he whispered, and Bilbo grinned, snorted out a little laugh, and it caught Thorin, and they stood there, laughing into the space between them.

“Mmm,” Bilbo finally managed, and tilted his head back to let Thorin have access to his collar. He kept his eyes shut, because. Because. Because his breath was unsteady, because Thorin’s eyes were so blue and looked at him with such wonder, and because tilting his head back so deep in one another's personal space looked very much like asking for a kiss. Because Thorin made him dizzy with want, and mostly because he’d not asked Ori if they would be filming from the waist up in case of sudden erections. 

Though to be honest, this particular erection had begun to stir pretty much the moment he’d locked eyes with Thorin Unknown Last Etc., Etc, and Bilbo had first received a tiny, shy smile and a double-barreled blast from those eyes. 

Thorin had made it halfway down his chest and had stopped to pull the shirt tails out of Bilbo’s trousers.

“Lying back and thinking of England?” he drawled, soft and low, low enough that Bilbo imagined he could feel the vibrations of it in his chest. He most certainly did _not_ whimper. 

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, and it was a caress. He whispered it again, a low, uncertain ache in his voice that ran Bilbo straight through. This time it was also a question, one asking if Bilbo was pulling away, pulling out of this unexpected….

Blindly, he raised his hands to grip Thorin’s elbows lightly, make contact, and opened his eyes. 

“I”m right here.” 

“Good.” A quick kiss to the forehead, and a swift, sweet smile, startling against his dark beard. 

“Affectionate,” Bilbo observed softly, delighted. One hot, heavy-eyed look and Thorin’s hand covering his heart, an obvious command to stay, and Bilbo was half-shaking with tension again, trying not to react too much as Thorin prowled behind him to press close, an echo of Bilbo’s removal of Thorin’s waistcoat. 

He peeled the shirt off, his hands leaving trails of fire whenever they touched skin. After, he wrapped his arms around him, seeming to understand how unsettling it was to have so much skin exposed in the bright white studio. He pressed his hand once more over Bilbo’s heart, and Bilbo let go for a moment, leaned back and allowed himself to bask.

“You know I thought I’d be horribly nervous and giggling with embarrassment?” Bilbo mused. He felt more than heard Thorin’s quick huff of a laugh. 

“I was seconds from backing out.” 

“No.” Bilbo turned and stayed close, his hands on Thorin’s waist. “You?” 

“Once I...I was persuaded otherwise.” Thorin inclined his head slightly and looked at Bilbo for one heartbeat, two, and, suddenly understanding the implied, _”Once I saw you,_ ” Bilbo flushed to his toes. 

He shook his head in wonder, and Thorin gave him one of those devastating, shy smiles. Bilbo shook himself again, about to stand there staring like a mooning, love-struck fool, and reached up to undo Thorin’s tie. He did not think about how the rich blue matched Thorin’s eyes _exactly_. 

“I’m glad you stayed,” Bilbo said when he could find his voice, trying to remember how his fingers worked as he undid each button. (There was deliciously distracting chest hair, and muscles, and Thorin smelled so _good_ : spices, clove and something wonderful.) 

About the time he decided that looking into Thorin’s eyes would be less dangerous than gawking at his very well-made chest, he glanced up to find Thorin watching him, longing clear in his gaze. Bilbo had to stop and close _his_ eyes for a moment, overwhelmed. Thorin’s hands came up under Bilbo’s forearms, steadying him. 

“Haven’t even gone on my toes to push the bloody shirt off you, you great tree of a man.” 

“Ninety percent of accidents occur in the home,” Thorin said, very seriously, and as a diversion, it worked, because Bilbo was snorting with incredulous laughter the next instant.

 _”What?_ Thorin, we….”

“No one ever says how many happen while removing a stranger’s clothes during a video shoot.” He continued, a mournful cast to his voice, and gave Bilbo an overly earnest look. By this time Bilbo was giggling so hard, he did need Thorin’s hands for support, and might have leaned a little against his bared chest, before he playfully slapped him away to drag the tails of the shirt out of his trousers. 

“Right,” he said, drawing himself up, a few snickers making a belated escape. “Thorin and stealth humor. Noted.” Thorin’s eyes crinkled in a smile, and he was clearly fighting not to grin. He inclined his head graciously. 

But the moment Bilbo’s hands touched his skin, Thorin’s pleased expression turned intimate, and his breathing picked up in a very flattering way when Bilbo had to stand on his toes to push Thorin’s shirt off his shoulders, push closer. With Thorin’s handsome face right there, and his clear, admiring gaze, it was indulgence itself to take his shirt off this way. Honestly Bilbo _could_ have gone and tugged it off him from the back, but... 

But being skin to skin with him, at least from the waist up, was just as delicious as he’d imagined, and Bilbo very,very carefully did not lean too or linger too long, though judging from Thorin’s expression, he would not have minded. So flattering.

Bilbo slowly peeled the shirt down Thorin’s arms, corded with muscle, off his back and down. They were both breathing unsteadily when he was done. Truth be told, Thorin was looking a little wild, a little unsteady around the eyes, as well, and Bilbo was feeling the same way. He tried to think of the most unarousing things possible on his way to put the shirt away. 

So, it most certainly did not help when Thorin slid to his knees in front of him. Bilbo took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. 

Thorin touched the side of his knee, and said in that lovely voice of his, “Shoes.” 

Bilbo’s breath came out in a relieved rush. “Shoes, yes, yes, of course. A bit tricky to get trousers off with those on,” he babbled, as Thorin untied them. While Bilbo was getting himself centered again, Thorin ran his whole hand up the smooth leather of Bilbo’s oxford, then slid around his heel, giving his foot a tap, requesting Bilbo to slip out of the shoe. 

“You have marvellous taste,” he murmured, glancing up. “Creative. Shoes, shirt, suit...oh,” he said in an approving tone. “Socks.” 

Bilbo put his hand lightly on Thorin’s shoulder and gave him a fond eye roll. “Serendipities.” He let the word hang in the air a moment, fill with possibility. “I can say the same of you.” 

“Hmmm,” Thorin mused, and honestly, that voice was going to end him. “Yes. I do so favor serendipities.” His voice dipped even lower, and he tipped a look up at Bilbo, eyes intent, gleaming. Bilbo did not whimper at the hot swoop of want that swept through him at that look, but it was a very near thing. 

“Oh, you do not play fair.” he breathed. 

“Who said I was playing?” Thorin countered, face and posture so open and candid. He took the rest of Bilbo’s breath with him as he rose to put the shoes away. 

~~~~

Bilbo looked so appealing, toes curling against the studio floor, a welcoming, wondering smile on his face. Thorin groped for something charming, something funny to say, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to not just stare, want. Touch. He took a deep breath as he stopped, readied himself for his turn. 

“The hell with the pocket squares,” Bilbo grumbled, eyes smiling, as he knelt at Thorin’s feet. “We should have started with shoes.” 

“Yes,” Thorin replied, looking down, watching the lights pick out the red and gold and silver in Bilbo’s hair. He was suddenly keenly aware of why Bilbo had been struggling with his breath so, before. He tried looking at the ceiling, but could still quite clearly picture Bilbo, half naked and kneeling at his feet. 

“Straps. You had to wear monk straps,” Bilbo tsked, fumbling with the buckles. “ _Double buckle_ monk straps.” 

“Oh. Apologies.” 

“No, no, my rage at them is making this so much less awkward.” 

“So happy to be of assistance.” 

Bilbo huffed, not really irritated, and moved on to the other shoe, electing to unbuckle everything at once. “There we are,” he said, and eased each shoe off, offering a hand for Thorin to use for balance. His hands were gentle and warm on Thorin’s skin as he tugged his socks off, and he busied himself with rolling them up and tucking them in one of Thorin’s shoes. Thorin watched him take a deep breath and extended his hand, offering some help up. 

“What do you say I change things up, and go ahead and…” Bilbo nodded at Thorin’s trousers. “You know, just….” he mimed ripping off a bandage. 

“They’re not _that_ tight.” He tried and failed to hide a smile. 

“Oh, I’m sitting right here, and I can see these bloody tree trunks you call thighs, up close and. Um. If you hear crying, it’ll be me trying to pry those trousers off you without causing injury.” 

“I would prefer to remain intact, yes.” 

“I was talking about me, but yes,” he said, the mischief in his eyes shading to sincerity. “ I rather prefer you just as you are. If I may?” 

Thorin could only nod. 

~~~~

Bilbo, honestly, was not sure how he was going to get through taking Thorin’s trousers off. It all started in a bit of a haze, feeling the warmth of Thorin’s body through the fine wool as he gave his flies a once over, hands safely (ha!) on Thorin’s hips, making sure he knew how the trousers were made before he went fumbling around with the buttons. 

He was valiantly not looking at the sharp cut of Thorin’s hips, rising above the waistband, or the attractive trail of hair disappearing beneath it. Or anything else. Not looking at all. Buttons, he was all about buttons. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thorin’s hand begin to reach out, and then clench in a loose fist at his side. He shifted, took Thorin’s hand and placed it on his shoulder. 

“It’s all right,” he said softly, as he began, not looking up at him, because if he looked up at him….he took a deep breath and decided not to think about what he might (quite uncharacteristically) do if they didn’t have cameras and three people he had drinks or dinner with on a semi-regular basis watching them them have this sort of instant amazing _thing_ flash into existence between them. 

He’d done the buttons and eased the zipper down and nothing had broken or snagged or gone pinging off into the corners, and that, given how snugly Thorin’s pants were fitting at the moment, (and wasn’t that a compliment) it was a win. 

Another deep breath and he cleared his throat. “It’s all right,” Bilbo said again, this time for both of them, and petted the outside of Thorin’s legs. “All right up there, Mr. Oak Tree Thighs?” 

He had the pleasure of hearing a surprised, joyful bark of a laugh burst out of Thorin, the pleasure of watching his lovely abs jump as he did. Thorin squeezed his shoulder, and Bilbo looked up and caught a glimpse of his amused expression.

“It wasn’t _that_ funny,” Bilbo observed mildly. He braved leaning back and took in the twitching corners of Thorin’s remarkably relaxed smile. It was a lovely look on him. 

“A...serendipitous choice of words?” Thorin offered.

Bilbo groaned. “Really?” 

Thorin shrugged, his smile gone a little crooked, a little fond, and the knuckle Thorin stroked along Bilbo’s cheekbone was more than a little affectionate. “I’ll tell you later.”

Bilbo sighed. “Could you stop being so ridiculously attractive?”

Thorin gave him a small (ridiculously) half-bow (attractive). “If you promise the same.” 

Rolling his eyes, Bilbo hmphed at him. “Excuse me while I consider this paint job you call your trousers.” He changed his focus to Thorin’s belly just in time to see his beautifully defined stomach muscles quiver with repressed laughter. 

“I will tickle you,” he warned darkly, and the repressed laughter turned to an audible snicker. 

“I will remind you,” Thorin replied, his voice sliding into silk. “That your turn is next.” His hand returned, warm and sure, to Bilbo shoulder. 

“Hmph,” Bilbo said, and gave the fabric over Thorin’s hips a firm yank. It slid past his pants helpfully, and Bilbo began to guide them down Thorin’s legs and arse. They, as foretold, needed a little extra encouragement to leave his powerful thighs behind, but eventually, they pooled on the floor and Thorin was stepping out of them. 

Bilbo blew out a relieved breath as he stood, and kept his eyes averted as he folded the trousers up, heeding Thorin’s reminder about his turn, and not wanting his eyes to linger too long on the sight of Thorin in nothing but small blue pants. His thoughts were certainly lingering on nothing but. Erections, everyone was ignoring them these days. Yes. That’s. Just what he’d do. Right. 

~~~~

As he turned to come back, Thorin caught an expression flit across Bilbo’s face that immediately made him want to wrap the shorter man in his arms. Thorin contented himself with reaching out and rubbing Bilbo’s upper arms gently. 

“I’ve been assured that it’s all right,” he said with a small smile, and Bilbo shot him a rueful, grateful look, and his hands came up to clasp Thorin’s forearms. 

“Ready?” Thorin looked at him for permission, and got a short nod. He held Bilbo’s eyes as he opened his trousers, revelling how quickly Bilbo’s nervous expression dissolved into trust warring with arousal. 

“Stop being so ridiculously attractive,” Thorin breathed.

“Do shut up,” Bilbo replied, blushing beautifully, and ducked his head. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” Thorin said, bending to catch Bilbo's eyes. “Don't hide. Please. I could watch your face all day long.” He carefully slipped his hands inside Bilbo’s trousers at the hips, and pushed them down his legs, sliding to his knees with them. 

“This,” Bilbo’s voice hitched and rasped. “This silly old thing?” Thorin helped him step out of the trousers, then caught one of his nervously fisting hands. 

“Yes.” He looked steadily at Bilbo. “ _Yes_. Same goes for your laughter.” 

“Thorin.” Bilbo’s expression was full both wonder and disbelief. Thorin kept hold of his hand as he stood, and leaned in to kiss Bilbo’s cheek, whisper in his ear. 

“Believe it. Believe me.” 

Bilbo took in a deep, shaky breath, looked into Thorin’s eyes and nodded. Satisfied, Thorin went to put Bilbo’s pants aside. 

He returned, eyes on Bilbo the whole way, and they stood staring at one another a long moment. Bilbo came to him, slipped his hand inside Thorin’s. 

“I didn’t think it would be this…”

“No, but I can’t find it in me to complain.” 

“Yes.” Bilbo sighed, a lovely smile in his eyes. Thorin clung tightly to his hand, unable to look away. 

~~~~

“Your braid?” he asked softly. Thorin inhaled sharply, let out a slow breath, and nodded. 

BIlbo put his hand on the center of Thorin’s chest, asking him to stay as he walked behind him. He put another grounding hand on Thorin’s waist as he examined the end of his braid, worked the elastic binding free, and slowly unbraided his hair. It was thick, soft, and shiny, well-tended and held the same clove scent as Thorin’s cologne.

He ran his fingers through it, fanning it over Thorin’s shoulders. If this was his one chance to see it, lush and unbound, he was going to take it. He ran the flat of his hand down the long, wavy fall of it, hanging down past his shoulder blades. 

Thorin turned, and caught Bilbo with hand raised to stroke his hair again. He caught that hand and kissed the palm and held on, keeping Bilbo close. He reached out and ran his other hand up Bilbo’s arm to his shoulder, and then, to his cheek. 

Slowly, he stroked the corner of Bilbo’s mouth with his thumb, then the swell of his lower lip. “Bilbo,” he asked softly. 

“Dear _god,_ the way you say my name,” Bilbo breathed. Thorin leaned in, pressed their foreheads together. 

“Bilbo.” 

“Thorin,” Bilbo replied, trying to put as much appreciation, as much wonder in the name as he felt, and could feel Thorin relax, yearn into him. He stepped back, and held out his hand. He got them to the small bed, slid in, and held the sheet open, waiting. 

Then Thorin was beside him, taking the sheet from Bilbo’s hand and throwing it over their heads in the next moment, on his elbow and leaning over Bilbo, eyes burning blue, saying his name in that lovely caressing way the next. 

“Yes,” Bilbo whispered, his hand coming up to cup Thorin’s cheek, draw him in. “Yes, Thorin.” 

~~~~

Epilogue: 

“Thorin?” Bilbo called, and Thorin turned, just finishing buttoning up his shirt. Bilbo flapped his loose cuffs at him and raised his eyebrows. Thorin ducked his head, smiling, and reached into his pocket as he strolled across the set to Bilbo, and held out his hand, silently offering to do up Bilbo’s cuffs. 

With a fond huff, Bilbo allowed it, and watched Thorin’s face as he worked. When he was done, he kissed Bilbo’s knuckles and then his palm, his thumb stroking the center, after. 

“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service,” he said with a gracious nod. Bilbo gaped. 

“And I called you…!” 

“Yes, and I’m going to be at great pains to bribe Ori and crew not to tell my nephews.” He kissed Bilbo’s palm once more, returned it to him, and wandered back to his pile of clothing, doing up his own sleeves.

It wasn’t until Bilbo was shrugging on his jacket and shooting his cuffs that he noticed; Thorin had returned only one of his acorn cufflinks, and threaded one of his own oak trees into Bilbo’s sleeve. 

“Oh that is _it_ , you bloody romantic _tree_ ,” he snapped, strode across the room, grabbed a startled Thorin by the lapels and dragged him down to his mouth. 

“Bilbo Baggins,” he added later, quite breathless. “At yours.” 

~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> I got my love of haberdashery from my late father, who once said, "As vices go, neckties are pretty far down on the list." He used to take me shopping as a kid and young adult, and I put that knowledge to good use costuming shows and outfitting the staff of a travel company I worked for. So, dressing these two was great fun, particularly knowing that both actors do love a good suit.


End file.
